


Straight Jacket

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Flashbacks, Gen, Hallucinations, Involuntary Commitment, Jason Todd is in Arkham, Lazarus Pit, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: If despair had a smell, it would smell like Arkham Asylum. Musty walls, hints of vomit, cold sweat, and medical sanitizer. Of all the things that could have hit him as the men in the white coats dragged him in kicking in screaming, the smell was not what he had anticipated. He didn’t go willingly, of course. Oh no, he was going to make them work to get him into one of their damned rooms before they did God-only-knew what to him.After nearly killing Damian, Dick has Jason committed to Arkham Asylum.





	Straight Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> There are MANY potential triggers in this fic, including but not limited to: torture, panic attacks, mentions of a near-murder, among other things. If you have any concerns about a potential trigger, please contact me [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/luthienluinwe) and I will provide you with appropriate spoilers.

If despair had a smell, it would smell like Arkham Asylum. Musty walls, hints of vomit, cold sweat, and medical sanitizer. Of all the things that could have hit him as the men in the white coats dragged him in kicking in screaming, the smell was not what he had anticipated. He didn’t go willingly, of course. Oh no, he was going to make them work to get him into one of their damned rooms before they did God-only-knew what to him.

Of all the places Dick Grayson could have thrown him into unwillingly, Arkham should have been at the very bottom. Hell. It shouldn’t have been considered at all. So he’d kidnapped Robin. So he’d nearly killed him. So fucking what? Joker had killed a Robin. And where did that land him? Back on the streets tormenting more people, where he’d keep tormenting more people until someone was finally brave enough to land a bullet between his eyes.

“Settle down, Todd,” one of the men said, and Jason shot him a glare that would have made Batman shudder. He pulled against the man again, screaming something he didn’t quite register. He could hear the other patients, though inmates may have been the better word, screaming from their rooms.

“Bite me,” he spat and tried to pull away again, only for the man in the white coat to grab him tighter. For fuck’s sake, he’d never been man-handled like that in his life. He watched the man hold a keycard up to a little black box. He heard a high-pitched beep and watched the light turn green and the door open. He could’ve grabbed it if they hadn’t flex-cuffed his hands behind his back. Lucky they didn’t put him in a five-point restraint, one of the nurses had said.  _ Should’ve thrown you in Blackgate where you belong. Their needle in your arm would do Gotham a hell of a lot more good than any of ours. _

It wasn’t like the brat didn’t deserve it. One replacement had been bad enough. But two? God, Dickiebird had better hope to whatever higher power was out there that Jason didn’t get the chance to wrap his hands around that little brat’s neck. Jason should have just killed him when he had the chance. Watched the blood leave his lifeless body, all while Dick was just seconds too late to stop him.

He cried out when the man in the white coat threw him into the room, and hissed when he hit the hard, concrete floor with a thud. Couldn’t they least afford linoleum? He glared as the door shut behind him, and he took stock of his surroundings. Shitty bed that was more a cot than anything else. Corner away from the cameras where he could relieve himself. Good to know those Arkham donations Brucie sent for years and years were put to good use. Probably went straight from his hand to the pockets of the board of directors.

“Jason,” he thought he heard a voice say from the shared wall next to his cot. His blood ran cold and he felt bile rise in his mouth. No. There was no fucking way. They didn’t put him next to  _ him. You’re in the fucking high-security wing,  _ the voice in the back of his head told him.  _ Who the fuck did you think was going to be here? Santa Claus? _

He stared at the concrete floor and moved so he was sat cross-legged. He tried to pull his hands free, but the sharp plastic edge just dug into his wrists. God, it was almost like being in that damned warehouse. “Jason,” he heard the voice cackle, and he wanted to try and punch through the damned concrete wall even if it would do nothing but break his hand in the end.

He was tied up and every last breath hurt, not to mention that wheezing hissing sound with each inhale couldn’t have meant anything good.  _ He’s coming,  _ he’d deluded himself into believing. At least the delusion hadn’t lasted long. He could taste the blood in his mouth, warm and coppery. Bruce had spent thousands of dollars on straightening his teeth. Shame he’d be lucky to have any of them left when he walked out of there.

Another raised hand. Another hard blow that blinded him for damn near a minute, this time to his stomach. If the punctured lung didn’t kill him, the internal bleeding surely would have.  _ Which hurts worse? A or B?  _ Did it even fucking matter by that point? It all hurt.  _ He isn’t coming,  _ and Jason felt his heart sink because if B was going to find him, he would have done it already.  _ He isn’t coming.  _ He was a dead man the second he’d come-to in that abandoned warehouse. It was just a matter of when the Joker would get tired of his new favorite plaything.  _ God, let him get bored fast.  _

There was no sound quite like that of a laugh of a madman who had nothing left to lose. And Arkham was full of nothing if not madmen with nothing left to lose. It chilled him to the bone and made his hair stand on end.

How many were in the wing? 

At least four. 

Who were they? 

He didn’t know for sure. 

Could he get out? 

Not without them coming with him.

His mind was fuzzy and his limbs were heavy. Whatever the hell they’d injected into the side of his neck was finally starting to take hold. He scooted back so his back was propped up against the wall facing the door, no way in hell was he taking his chances with that cot. At least this way he’d have some better reaction time when someone inevitably came in. But the drugs won out over his willpower, and unconsciousness claimed him all the same.

Green. Everywhere. Everything. His lungs were filling up with water, and God it hurt worse than anything he’d experienced in his life… No. Hurting. He wasn’t supposed to be hurting. He was dead. He’d been torn apart in that explosion, or at least he thought he had been. It had been dark. Hadn’t it? He couldn’t breathe.

God he couldn't breathe. Everything was dark and he couldn’t move and he couldn’t breathe and he was going to die again and he banged on the walls of his wooden prison but no one could hear him and he was going to die again and no one was ever going to know but his mind wasn’t functioning and everything was coming in jumbled messes.

And he tried to scream, but the fluid just filled his mouth even more. And he was filled with a rage he had never known was possible. And the impact of the explosion was hitting him all over again, and he felt like his body was being torn apart inch by inch.

He woke with a start, pulse pounding in his neck and heart racing in his chest. His mouth was dry, and fuck his head hurt, and Dick was going to fucking pay when Jason got out. He would have shot anyone else. Made it quick. No one deserved to be tortured like he had. No one except for Dick fucking Grayson, who should have just let Batman die with Bruce.

Gotham needed him, Jason was sure Dick thought. Yeah, well Jason had needed Batman once to. And where the hell had he been then? Seconds too late, Jason had been assured. He’d tried. Yeah fucking right. Some hero who couldn’t save the fifteen year old kid, left him with that madman to die scared and alone.  _ Forehand or backhand? _

He was just trying to teach Dickiebird a lesson. Bruce obviously hadn’t learned it. Anyone who got involved with the Bat wound up dead, mutilated, or worse. Why should Dickie’s little Robin be any different?

The lights flickered off. The walls were closing in and he was underground and he was alone and no one was ever going to know and he was pounding and pounding but no one could hear him scream just like no one had heard him scream then.  _ Be a good boy.  _ He’d tried. God, he had fucking tried. He had done everything right. And where had that landed him? Six feet underground.

_ Finish your homework.  _

_ You shattered his collarbone.  _ And he would have fucking done it again and again and again because the bastards of the world deserved to pay. Why couldn’t Bruce see that? Why couldn’t any of them fucking see that? A small part of him had hoped Dick would do a better job, that he’d have the balls to do the things that Bruce wouldn’t. Maybe one day he’d learn to stop believing in people. He thought dying would have solved that one. Apparently that was another thing he’d been wrong about.

_ Be in bed by nine. _

And the door was cracked open, and Jason hadn’t realized how cold it was, but when he thought about it, he was chilled to the bone, and he knew deep in his gut that he was never going to be warm again. And that God-forsaken laugh was still ringing in his ears. “I’ve missed you, Jason.” And Dick had better fucking run far, far away when Jason got out.

_ Oh. And tell the big man I said hello. _

The walls were pressing in further, and he could feel the darkness creeping up on him, surrounding him, filling his every being with hate and fear and that same damned helplessness he’d felt in the warehouse. And someone had grabbed him and covered his mouth, and he hadn’t realized he’d been screaming until he woke with that same damned headache and that same fuzzy feeling and a new raw soreness in his throat.

His right arm was strapped over his shoulder, his left across his hip.  _ Fuck. _ The ground around him had been stained red, or at least he thought it had been when the men in the white coats had dragged him out. How had that happened?

When did concrete become padding?

Everything was white.

Blindingly white.

At least white was better than green, green that had perverted his vision for days. Green that had filled him with a hatred he never knew was possible. He was going to hunt Bruce down, and when that happened, there was no god in existence that could have helped him. How had he not accidentally killed Ra’s or Talia? How had he not accidentally killed himself?  _ You left me to die. _

_ How are we doing, Mr. Todd? _

He would have shot the brat thousands of times over. Maybe in an alternate reality it would have worked. Wouldn’t that have been perfect? Dick seeing his precious little demon spawn cold and lifeless on the ground while he hadn’t been able to do a damned thing about it. 

_ Send me to fucking Blackgate. _

Would Dick have killed him for it?

_ Excuse me? _

God, Jason hoped so.

_ Send me to fucking Blackgate. I don’t care anymore. Anywhere but here. _

And really, he should have known better than to put any faith in Dick. Why should he have put any faith in anyone? It never ended well for him.

Jason Todd was the only person Jason Todd could depend on.

And he’d be damned before he ever forgot that again.

  
  
  



End file.
